


Bigger than a Breadbox

by KatherineKrawl



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Fluff and Crack, Hannibal Lecter in Love, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Hannibal makes lunch, M/M, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Rimming, Sassy Will, Sex, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham is So Done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:28:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23216284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatherineKrawl/pseuds/KatherineKrawl
Summary: “Just a sandwich, o-ok?” he stuttered, as Hannibal nuzzled beneath his ear. “Turkey, or ham and cheese...”- “I can do that,” Hannibal assured, as he sucked Will's earlobe into his mouth.“N-nothing fancy,” Will moaned, as his hands worked to pull Hannibal's shirt from his trousers.“Nothing fancy,” Hannibal agreed, as he unzipped Will's fly with crafty fingers.**Awful man, Will cursed silently the following Monday.Awful, awful man.-Every day at work, Will's lunchbox is filled with decadent creations, prompting questions from curious coworkers. Hoping to solve the matter, he asks Hannibal for a 'simple' sandwich, but quickly learns Hannibal doesn't quite grasp the meaning of this. Or does his boyfriend have an ulterior motive for his lavish lunches?
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 71
Kudos: 1758





	Bigger than a Breadbox

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Delia72](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delia72/gifts).



_“What is that you got in your lunch box, Graham? Is that Sushi?”_

That was how it all started.

It was right after New Year's that Will moved into Hannibal's place. After a stormy 'dating' time, Christmas had been spent with Will moaning and writhing in Hannibal's lap, and parting had been less and less sweet, and more and more sorrow. He had fallen in love, and his confession had been wholeheartedly returned.

Living together had been as complicated as it had been beautiful, and after spending two whole months waking up beside his man, Will knew he never wanted it to end.

But adjustments had needed to be made, and traits to be discovered. Some things took time getting used to. As the normality of their routine had sunken in, Will had discovered that Hannibal didn't _just_ like to cook; Hannibal liked to cook _for him_. 

Hannibal liked to make his breakfast, his coffee, lunch and dinner. Hannibal ironed his clothing and nearly begged to bathe and shave Will in the mornings. Hannibal liked to rub his feet, massage his shoulders and suck his cock until Will couldn't lift another finger with bliss. Hannibal **loved** taking care of him.

Will had never been taken care of, nor had he trusted anyone enough to allow it. But, the irony not escaping him, the Chesapeake Ripper had turned out to be the man that he could surrender himself to. That he could float beside in the stream.

But that first time he had opened his lunch box in the teachers' lounge on a Monday, had been absolutely cringe-worthy. Where his colleagues opened their Tupperware to find poorly cut sandwiches, flaky crackers or even a splash of last night's spaghetti, his stainless steel breadbox revealed a still warm, neatly square-cut piece of magazine-style moussaka, with a feta cheese salad dressed with vinaigrette and pomegranate seeds on the side.

All eyes were on his breadbox. And all eyes were on him. 

Will felt his shoulders draw up in an attempt to hide him from the curious eyes. “Damn, Graham. Someone at home loves you,” one of them laughed.

“My wife won't even cut the crusts off my bread,” another added. 

“I can smell it from here. Oh my God, that's good.”

What followed were a series of personal questions about his life that he, up to this point, had always been able to skillfully dodge.

“Are you in a relationship? Or do you still live with your mother?”

“Is your wife a chef? Or a social media housewife?”

“A man? Well, from the smell of it alone I can't believe you don't weigh, like, a thousand pounds, Will. That's a good catch.”

“Ahh, you're Gordon Ramsey's secret boyfriend, are you? - Hey Gary, guess what I just said to Graham.”

As amazing as the food had tasted, it was the most uncomfortable lunch he had ever experienced in his life.

Or since high school.

Coming home, he had been meaning to tell Hannibal he would prefer his lunches to be 'toned down', but was greeted by his boyfriend at the door, who looked at him with fire in those cognac eyes as he fingered loose the knot of his tie.

Their kisses were desperate and hungry, as if the hours that had separated them had already started to eat away at their sanity. Hannibal bent him over the harpsichord to push his tongue past the quivering ring of muscles between Will's ass cheeks, licking and probing to ease him open and slick him up with patience that left Will's nail-marks on the polished wood. Then, Will pushed Hannibal into one of those Victorian chairs he liked so much and sucked the still fully-dressed man's dick as it curved rock hard from his open fly.

Will rode him, back to front as Hannibal's hands roamed beneath his shirt. Pressing him down, pushing him up, and feeling the trembles beneath Will's skin with open hands as they fucked their way to completion with pants and cries, curses and declarations of love.

They showered after, warm beneath the water and in the other's arms, and Will had forgotten all about his lunch.

Tuesday morning, when Hannibal handed him the breadbox, Will was still warm from having Hannibal's mouth on his cock after breakfast. The box was heavy as he put it into his bag, but he didn't comment as Hannibal kissed him on the lips, making him taste a hint of his own semen.

Really, did it matter? Wasn't it simply a very nice thing to be indulged by his man? 

Classes were fine. No lingering students. And then he found himself at the long teachers' table at twelve thirty.

“What is that you got in your lunch box, Graham? Is that Sushi?”

Beautifully colorful maki, uramaki and nigiri with various types of fish and shrimp were revealed beneath the lid. Salmon and tuna sashimi was arranged in a fan on the side and there was even a compartment for wasabi, ginger, soy sauce, and two engraved chop sticks that Will _knew_ held a message from Hannibal in Japanese.

_For fuck's sake._

“That is five star living you are doing there, Graham.”

“Are those _golden_ chopsticks?”

“What restaurant did you pick that up this morning?”

And Will flushed bright red as he stammered and put up the lid of his lunch box to hide the content from their eyes. He had to explain he hadn't picked up his meal at a restaurant, but that once again his boyfriend had been the one to provide him with his homemade cooking.

He was met with teasing and jealousy alike.

“If he's cooking you that, you must be hella something between the sheets.” 

“Just kidding, just kidding.”

“My wife made me a baloney sandwich, while she knows I hate baloney.”

“I wish I was gay. All the best chefs are men.”

Lunch was now officially Will's least favorite time of day, and he grumbled all the way home with the intention to thank Hannibal for the food, but request something simpler instead.

Hannibal massaged his prostate in the dining room, and fucked Will on his back on the dining table. In bed, he rubbed Will's back and shoulders with oil that smelled like autumn rain.

Wednesday. Asian fish curry with shrimp and coconut milk.

“Oh my God, that scent is making me weak in the knees.”

“Can you ask your boyfriend for the recipe? I would love to make this.”

At home, Hannibal begged for Will to fuck him, and they ended up on the stairs with the man grinding down on his dick.

Thursday. Rib-eye steak and lobster salad with a poached pear.

“A poached pear? Is this guy on Master Chef?”

Hannibal sucked on his toes as he drove into him over and over on the thick, living room rug.

Friday. A five-cheese lasagna and a piece of blueberry clafoutis.

“We need to talk.”

It was Sunday evening when Will finally had his brain in order to a degree he could raise the issue. It was at the dining table, as they were enjoying a very elaborate interpretation of paella. 

Hannibal looked up from his plate with a glaze over his eyes. “Is that so?” he asked, his warmth growing slightly stoic with what Will knew was unfounded worry.

Will reached for his hand over the table. “Oh God no, I know the stigma on that sentence...” he said, squeezing Hannibal's fingers as they curled around his. “No, it's... it's about lunch.”

Hannibal's lips stretched into a small smile as he released Will's grip with an affectionate squeeze. He reached for his wine.

“What _about_ lunch, Will?” he asked, sipping the red liquid as he kept his eyes rested on his mate.

And Will felt like a... like a dick. “It's... amazing,” he said, and watched his boyfriend's eyes light up with the compliment. 

“Anything for you, mylimsis,” Hannibal spoke, eyes so thick with affection Will could feel the warmth coil in his belly.

It _was_ amazing. This life was a series of wonderful food and earth-shattering sex. Notwithstanding the beautiful flow of conversation, the physical and psychological loving, and the most luxurious outings. He was spoiled and pampered and quickly becoming someone his father always despised.

It was perfect.

“It's _too_ amazing,” Will said, his throat squeezing closed with the confession. _Ungrateful brat_ , he scolded himself inwardly, as he watched Hannibal lower his glass to the table.

Will lowered his eyes, his fork pushing around yellow rice on his plate. “I'm drawing some... _unwanted_ attention at work,” he said, chewing on his bottom lip. “People are all over my lunch box.”

There was a huff of amusement from the other side of the table. “I see...” Hannibal said, as Will lowered his cutlery to his plate.

“And I've also gained some weight.”

He had. His clothes still fit, but his thighs has become thicker, and his ass was... rounder. Bigger.

He looked up when he heard the chair scrape, and watched as Hannibal walked around the table to meet him.

His hand extended, and Will took it, standing up. 

“You have never been more beautiful,” Hannibal hummed, as he pulled him closer. Their chests met, and large hands came to cup Will's ass through his slacks. Knowing exactly where the extra pounds had gathered.

Arousal flashed sharply through Will's thighs as their groins were pushed together.

“Baby...” he moaned, only half protesting as his head rolled back to give room to Hannibal's searching lips.

A pet name he knew Hannibal was still getting used to, but one that slipped so easily from Will's lips when he had seen his man so vulnerable beneath his hands.

Hannibal sighed against the skin of his throat, before he pulled back, straightening himself before Will. “Very well,” he surrendered. “What would you like me to make you, darling?”

Will reached for the lapels of Hannibal's jacket, pulling at the fabric to bring his boyfriend in for a single kiss.

“I can make my own,” he said, thinking of the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and the apple he would shove in the beautiful breadbox.

Hannibal hummed. “Of course you can,” he said, bringing his hands to fold around Will's waist. “but I'd much rather do it for you.”

Hannibal smiled, and Will could feel the slight stubble on his cheek as he leaned closer to place a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“It brings me great pleasure...” he whispered, his voice soft but deep as it vibrated against Will's lips all the way down to his tightening groin.

“I know, Han,” he breathed. “I know it does.”

His hands came up to stroke his boyfriend's face, running it down the sides and clutching at his hair.

“Just a sandwich, o-ok?” he stuttered, as Hannibal nuzzled beneath his ear. “Turkey, or ham and cheese...”

\- “I can do that,” Hannibal assured, as he sucked Will's earlobe into his mouth.

“N-nothing fancy,” Will moaned, as his hands worked to pull Hannibal's shirt from his trousers.

“Nothing fancy,” Hannibal agreed, as he unzipped Will's fly with crafty fingers.

**

 _Awful man_ , Will cursed silently the following Monday. _Awful, awful man._

He looked down at the stainless steel lunch box and saw that Hannibal had, indeed, made him sandwiches for lunch. Smoked salmon, roast beef and ham and cheese.

“Oh my God, Graham. This is too cute.”

“Can I take a picture? I need to show this to my daughter.”

“Is that a...is that a little doggie?”

Sandwiches. Yes. Simple? No.

Of course there was the fancy dressings, the lettuce, tomatoes and the expensive kinds of meat, fish and cheese. But what made it exceptional was the presentation.

The sandwich was cut into shapes with a cookie cutter. A heart, lined red with ketchup and with his name written in the condiment across homemade panini bread. Another was dressed up with slices of cheese for ears and a cherry tomato nose to resemble a dog. Then there were the stars and heart-shaped melon and pineapple slices.

“Why?” Will asked when he got home, his ear still burning red from the giggle that had followed him through the building for the rest of the day.

Hannibal was in the music room, untying his shoelaces on the velvet couch. He looked up at Will's question, and instead of replying, spread his legs for Will to step between. He had no idea how he ended up with his mouth full of Hannibal's cock rather than answers, but he was much too easily seduced onto his back on that very couch, as the top of his head boinked against the armrest.

Hannibal did as he pleased, that much was clear to Will. And every time Will returned home from school, things just didn't seem so bad from the perspective of Hannibal's naked body rutting against his.

But in the teachers' lounge, he was confronted by the daily snickering over his breadbox. There was a 'bread' butterfly with a cabanossi sausage for a body, clementine and cucumber flowers, skewers with heart shaped fruits and cheeses, a hard-boiled egg dressed up as a baby chicken...

Fresh juice, pretzels and dip, homemade bonbons, a small bowl of pumpkin and cream soup in a little container.

And the notes. Little, folded piece of thick paper with phrases or poetry written in Hannibal's curly handwriting. 

Things like: 

_I have slept with you all night long while the dark earth spins with the living and the dead, and on waking suddenly in the midst of the shadow my arm encircled your waist. Neither night nor sleep could separate us._ **\- Pablo Neruda**

Or:

 _And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course._ **\- Gebran Khalil**

And his ears were bright read as he crumbled the paper in his hand every time a colleague tried to walk behind him for an eyeful. He grumbled under the 'oohs and aahs' that surrounded his lunch, and slipped Hannibal's love notes into the pocket of his jeans, catching himself stroking the paper smooth again as he walked back and forth before his power-point, teaching his students about his boyfriend's murders with his eyes on the rim of his glasses.

And he was lavished with kisses and expensive wine, as Hannibal made love to him, cooked for him and engaged him in conversation actually worth his while.

Will was in love. He let it go on for weeks just for the sake of that smile that opened Hannibal's face at the sight of an empty lunch box, and his love notes in Will's pocket.

But there was a breaking point, and that breaking point came on a Friday afternoon.

Will opened his box, and almost choked on his own spit at what greeted him inside. On a slice of homemade bread, there was a portrait made with ham and cheese, tomato, bell peppers and onion, ketchup and mustard and, _Jesus Christ_ , it was them.

On the Italian bread, fresh from this morning's oven, Hannibal had sculpted both himself and Will, walking hand in hand beside each other and staring into olive-made eyes. On the other slice, the ham was used as a background for a message that Hannibal had written him in mayonaise:

_My darling Will,_

_the instrument that is my heart could be tuned by you alone._

_Forever yours, Hannibal_

And Goddamnit, behind him, a female colleague dropped her papers at the sight of his lunch, scattering them everywhere with a loud gasp that caused others to rush to her aid... and see Will's lunch.

“Will. Oh my God.”

“Is there a ring in there as well?”

“This is _really_ erm... extravagant.”

“I'm so jealous, Graham. My husband doesn't even buy me flowers on my birthday.”

Hands curled around his shoulders, perfume penetrated his nostrils and cleavage came in sight as some of the staff members started bending over him to get a closer look.

No. no, no no. He was not doing this again.

Will closed the box with a metallic clang and shoved it back in his messenger bag as he pushed his chair back with a scrape against the tiles. He rose, pushed his glasses up, swung his bag over his shoulders and hurried past the crowd.

He heard them mumble behind him, undignified, but he didn't look back as he made it straight to his lecture hall and closed the door behind him.

“Jesus, Hannibal,” he groaned, wiping the sweat from his brow from under his glasses. He ate his lunch in silence, biting into what resembled his boyfriend's head with extra vigor as the artwork disappeared beneath his working jaws. 

It was delicious, but that had never been the problem.

**

His car was the safe haven he craved, and he wasted no time putting his foot down to speed off of the property. The rest of the day had felt like a draft in the back of his neck; he hadn't known who knew, but all eyes that had landed on him in class or followed in the halls had felt suspicious. 

“Why?” he whined once more, weak at the sight of Hannibal walking out of the kitchen to greet him. The disheveled hair, the red sweater covered by the white apron. Friday was Hannibal's day off.

“Why what, darling?” Hannibal rose his blond eyebrows as he took Will's bag and coat from him. A kiss brushed his cheek, and Will could feel the content smile on this soft, velvet lips.

Hannibal was happy. 

Will sighed, nuzzling into the scent of oak wood, fire and home. Fuck.

“Your artwork...” Will said, scratching his neck as Hannibal started to put away his stuff. “The erm... lunch box art...”

If he hadn't been an empath, a professional profiler, Will would have felt like a true dick right now. But alas, today, he had finally figured out his boyfriend's motive.

“You didn't like it?” Hannibal asked him with an innocence Will knew he did not possess, and couldn't help the smile that pushed up his lips as he stepped closer.

“...it was beautiful,” he breathed, arms sneaking around Hannibal's waist to reach the knot of the apron. “It was art.”

Their body heat mingled into that single perfect feel of home, and Hannibal hummed against his ear as Will undid the knot. “I'm glad you enjoyed it.” The apron was lifted over Hannibal's head, and the white bundle of fabric fell to the floor.

Before Will could note the uncharacteristic move, his body was pushed gently against the wall behind him, and broad shoulders trapped him in place as lips started nipping at the skin of his exposed throat.

Hot breath, hands yanking up the hem of his shirt, a knee against his groin to rut against... 

Yes... yes...

“No,” Will moaned, wriggling away from Hannibal's skillful mouth and forcing his own hands to push back against what he craved to fling himself at. “No, Hannibal.” He had promised himself, no more. He wouldn't, yet again, be seduced into submission. “We're talking about this.”

Those hands fell away from him, and Will grimaced with the loss as Hannibal stepped back, taking away that precious body heat.

“Of course, darling,” Hannibal said, sounding controlled but looking undone. His hair was out of place, his sweater's collar was pulled over one exposed shoulder, and his 'house-pants' were already bulging with other plans that Will could almost taste on his tongue. “Let's talk.”

Will watched as Hannibal's hand tried to smooth down his hair, and sighed with frustrated affection for his man.

“Come.”

They ended up on the sofa before the fireplace, where Hannibal sat himself down as Will started pacing the floor. Close contact would be... counter productive.

“I know what you're doing,” he said, almost forcefully, and eyes stern on the wall. “I know it's not just about taking care of me.” He knew his socks on the rug was electrically charging him as he shambled left to right. With a bit of luck and a few more rounds, he could make his stoic boyfriend jump. “Or spoiling me...”

Their eyes met, and Will saw Hannibal watching him with his legs crossed, and patient hands settled on his knees. Yes, Will would love to see him jump.

Hannibal cocked his head, one slipper dangling from his toes. “Then what is it about, you'd say?” he asked him with curiosity, but with challenge and amusement visible to Will's perceptive eyes. 

Will huffed, one crackling finger pointing straight at his gorgeous, smug boyfriend. “You're staking your claim,” he stated accusingly. “You need to claim me when you're not around.”

Hannibal watched him, expression unchanged as Will started shuffling on the rug again, grumbling his words and narrowing his eyes. “You need to show off I'm yours,” he complained, as Hannibal uncrossed his legs. “Wherever I go without you, you need to show the world I am taken.”

He halted before his lover, who slowly rose to his feet. Facing him with a soft smile and eyes bright as gemstones.

Will weakened when Hannibal reached to take his hands in his, and let the small jolt of electricity burst from Will's skin through his veins without a single flinch. Hairs on the back of Hannibal's wrists rose at the wave.

And Will breathed the words against his man's skin: “That I belong to Hannibal Lecter.” 

A hum brushed Will's ear before Hannibal's forehead glided along his. Hands ran from Will's shoulders down to his fingers.

“Let me put a ring on this, and my claim will be staked forever,” Hannibal nearly whispered against his ear, and Will felt his skin break out in goosebumps as his heart stuttered at the meaning. Hannibal was caressing his ring finger with intent, and Will quickly pulled back his hands as he shoved his boyfriend back down on the couch.

He had known Hannibal's need to stake his territory, but...

“You possessive bitch,” he gasped, grasping his ring finger as if it had been burned. Marriage? Stunned laughter released through his lips as Hannibal spread his arms over the backrest of the couch, as if he hadn't just been forced down onto it.

“I've been called worse,” he smiled, eyes still bright and eager, contrasting his relaxed pose on the sofa. “But I know what I want, mylasis.”

Will laughed again, both hands running back through his curls as he tilted his head up, looking at the ceiling. “So if I marry you, no more heart-shaped sandwiches,” he grunted, before he looked back down at Hannibal – pleased as punch, “is that what you're saying?”

Hannibal cocked his head, the amusement transformed into something that made Will shiver in his skin. Something real. It rang through the words as he said: “My darling Will.” A prayer. A promise.  
“If you marry me, I'll dedicate my life to whatever it is that pleases you, in whatever way you find it most pleasurable.”

A dark sincerity shone from the depths of Hannibal's eyes, that now glistened wet in the light, and Will swallowed at the tight pull beneath his ribs.

Oh, Hannibal.

“Blackmail, this is,” Will grumbled, as he climbed unto the sofa to straddle his man's hips. Their lips met as Hannibal's hands slid up his back.

 _His_ Hannibal.

“Just make me your stupid, heart-shaped sandwiches,” he huffed into his boyfriend's mouth, and felt Hannibal smile sharply against his lips.

“Yes, mylasis.”

His adoring but manipulating, controlling and overbearing Hannibal.

“And marry me.”

Will breathed the words against Hannibal's throat, and felt the heartbeat beneath his lips quickening in an instant. Hannibal's mouth bit gently into Will's jugular.

“Yes, my darling,” he agreed, the words coated with cracks and heat.

Will was shifted onto his back and looking up through Hannibal's bangs, he smiled at the black blaze of blissful vulnerability that greeted him there.

Magnificent, otherworldly, diabolical Hannibal.

He would take those heart-shaped sandwiches. He would bring them in with pride, together with a ring on his finger and a different last name. As Hannibal was proud to show him off, he would be proud to show off his vibrant, beautiful husband to a dull, gray world. Sandwiches and all.

“And fuck me,” he moaned against Hannibal's sharp teeth, and felt his jeans being unbuttoned by long, hungry fingers.

A deep chuckle vibrated against his mouth, where tears made their kisses salty.

“Yes, my Will,” his Hannibal said.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope to brighten your day during these strange times <3 Love you


End file.
